


Holy Hell

by inkiestdawn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Masturbation, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:45:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3701145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkiestdawn/pseuds/inkiestdawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reader tracks demon!Dean down. Smut ensues!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holy Hell

There’s something about the way he moves that makes your legs shake. He looks almost primal as he stalks inside the motel room. You pause in the doorway, uncertain. The air outside is cold and you need to talk to him but the thought of what he is, and what he’s not, makes you weary. You’ve dealt with demons before, plenty of them, but this is Dean. The thought of him as a fucking Knight of Hell, well shit. Shoulders slumped in exhaustion, you follow him in.

Dean falls back onto the king sized bed, bouncing once, and folds his arms behind his head. You close the door, shivering as one last cold blast of air rushes in.

“Come on baby,” Dean teases, “hop on. I’ve missed that tight pussy.”

You turn to see him unbuckling his belt and scowl.

“You can just…just fucking stop, that’s not why I’m here.” Proud that you’re able to keep the tremor from your voice, you edge closer to the bed.

He lets his belt fall open, smirking at you, “Is that right? Why else would you track me down? I thought I made it pretty clear that I want to be left alone.”

Squaring your shoulders, you take a moment to steel your courage, “Sam just wants to…”

“Sam! This is why you’re here?” He sits up, expression in his green eyes flat. “You fucking him?”

“No!”

You’ve spent way too much time and energy tracking him down to play games and seeing him again, seeing him this way, drains what little drive you have left. You sit down heavily on the edge of the bed, flinching when he runs his hand across your back.

You pull away, hissing, “Don’t touch me.”

“Baby,” he says softly, leaning so close that you feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. The fact that he sounds exactly the same, looks the same, is a mind fuck you weren’t prepared for. You turn your head just enough to see his profile, to see him reaching for you.

“Don’t touch me,” you say again, your voice low and precariously close to trembling.

You didn’t expect to feel this way. Here, now, in another stupid motel in the middle of nowhere, you’re at war with your instincts. To your body, he’s not a demon, not the type of monster you hunt and kill. The sense memory of all those moments you shared is triggered hard by his scent, the warmth of his body, the sound of his voice.

“Goddamn it,” you murmur, pushing yourself up and off the bed to stand by the door, arms folded protectively over your chest.

“What did you think was going to happen?” Dean asks, staring down at his hands, “Did you honestly think you were going to drag me back?” When he looks back up at you, you feel any hope you had cave in and have to fight the urge to shut down, to let the loss consume you. His eyes are so flat, so empty.

“May as well have some fun before you head back,” he twists his beautiful mouth into a smirk.

Anger and a familiar hardness fill the space hope left. “Why the fuck not?”

Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise, something crossing over his face so quickly that you don’t have a chance to decipher it. He gets up, making his way to you.

Holding your hands up, you shake your head, saying firmly, “But you don’t get to touch me.”

He licks his lips slowly. Desire floods your lower abdomen, coursing heat down between your legs and up through your chest. You feel your face flush, eyes still on his mouth.

“You do as I say,” he counters, eyes searching your face. You don’t know what he’s hoping to find but you’re still too angry at yourself to care all that much.

“What do you want me to do?” Your stomach muscles clench and every nerve seems to hum with energy.

Dean smiles slowly, “Come over here.”

Switching gears, you step forward slowly, swinging your hips. Biting your lower lip, you stop inches from him, eyes on his chest. You can smell him- his skin, beer and whiskey, a faint scent of motor oil- and breathe deep, telling yourself that if you don’t look too close, you can convince yourself that it’s the devil you know before you.

He balls his hands into fists, muscles in his jaw clenched, “Take off your clothes.” His voice is so low, so deep that you swear you can almost feel it rumble in his chest.

Slowly, you unzip your jacket, sliding your arms out and letting it drop to the floor. Face so close to his body that your skin brushes the fabric of his clothes, you bend over to unlace your boots. Pulling out the knife you keep there you place it on the worn carpet and stand back up with a soft sigh. Dean swallows hard when your hands go to the hem of your sweater. You grab at the t-shirt underneath and pull both over your head, shaking out your hair and letting the clothes fall to the floor.

You look down, pressing your lips into a soft pout, giving him a moment to take you in as you stand before him in your jeans and bra.

Reaching back, you pull your gun out of your pants and toss it onto the bed. Dean doesn’t turn to look. Popping the button on your jeans, you pull them down your hips slowly, stepping out of them and pushing them off to the side.

“Stop,” he says, voice rough. “Look at me.”

Looking up, you meet his gaze and hold it defiantly. Dean takes his jacket off, tossing it onto the bed behind him. He unbuttons his jeans, pulling them low on hips, just enough to ease the pressure on his hard, thick cock. He pulls his underwear down but you keep your eyes on his as he pulls his cock out and strokes it.

“Face the mirror,” he commands, eyes closing for a moment as he jerks himself off. There’s a dresser in front of the bed with a large mirror on top.

You step in front of the mirror, careful not to brush against him. He stands behind you, close enough that you can feel him stroking himself.

“I want to see your tits.”

Reaching back, you unfasten your bra and let it slide slowly off your arms. Your nipples harden in the cool air, darkening and begging for attention. Your eyes find his in the mirror and he moans.

“Touch yourself through your panties,” he says, his voice shaking. His green eyes are dark and heavily lidded.

You reach down, trailing your fingers softly down over your stomach before stroking your pussy through the fabric of your underwear.

“Oh fuck yes,” Dean groans.

You slide your hand between your legs, pressing your middle finger roughly to your centre. Pussy wet and aching, you rock your hips and moan softly, watching Dean in the mirror.

“Bend over and slide your panties down.”

Pushing your hips back, you bend over, pulling your underwear down slowly. You keep your eyes on his reflection, flushing as he watches, staring at your ass, his lips parting and nostrils flaring. Panties still around your ankles, you stand back up, biting back a moan as his hand brushes against your ass.

“Massage your tits.”

You obey, cupping your breasts, fingers cold against the firm flesh, and knead them softly. Taking your nipples between you index fingers and thumbs, you moan and gently tease and tug at the sensitive nubs.

Dean leans forward, breathing heavily against your shoulder, “You want me to fuck you?”

You squeeze your eyes closed for a moment and shake your head, “No.”

“You will,” he says breathlessly, one hand cupping his balls while the other pumps his cock, “Rub your pussy.”

You place one hand on the top of the dresser, leaning your weight into it and pushing your hips back. Reaching down, you slide your other hand between your legs, moaning as your fingers slip between the wet folds of your pussy, brushing against your clit. You slide your fingers back and forth before moistening your clit with your juices and rubbing small, slow circles.

Dean’s eyes roam over you, taking in your ass, watching your breasts in the mirror, jerking and bouncing softly as you rock your hips.

“Finger fuck yourself,” he commands, panting.

You slide two fingers up inside of your pussy, feeling the muscles contract and relax. You pump and stroke, reaching down with your other hand to rub your clit. Hearing him behind you, feeling the heat coming off of his body, smelling him, makes your head spin and your desire grow, clouding over any doubt or anger you feel. You rock your hips in time with your strokes, moaning.

“I want to see you come.”

When you look back up at Dean, his eyes are black. You gasp and finger yourself faster, intensely aroused and past the point of stopping. You press your thighs into the cool wood of the dresser and reach out to steady yourself. Sliding your fingers out of your pussy, you rub roughly at your clit, panting as the pressure builds quickly.

“That’s right baby,” Dean growls, eyes pitch black and teeth clenched as he jerks himself off.

Your skin starts to tingle, the sensation blooming out and growing. Rubbing faster, stroking a fingertip inside the wet entrance of your pussy, you moan as you reach your peak, bending low over the dresser and squeezing your thighs together, so close.

Hearing Dean moan behind you, knowing he’s coming, sends you over the edge. You cry out, legs trembling and hips jerking, grinding down hard on your hand as you come. The room vanishes as darkness floods your vision and you ride the ebbing sensation.

Panting, you don’t protest when he leans over you, whispering in your ear, “Next time, you’re gonna come on my cock.”


End file.
